


221B

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff and Angst, Gen, My first ever Sherlock fic!!, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-13 19:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexandra O'Hara is Scotland Yard's newest detective. On her very first day, she's thrust into the amazing, ridiculous world of Sherlock Holmes. And the second they meet, there's only one thing on everyone's minds: Has Sherlock finally met his match?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeee!! This is my first ever Sherlock story and I’m really excited about this. Please please let me know how you like it, I’m hoping to start updating regularly. Also I’m not British so please excuse any mistakes. I’m trying my best.

_Beep Beep Beep Be-_  


I groan and slam my hand onto my alarm clock before rolling over and hiding under my covers. I sigh contentedly as I begin to dose off again, until suddenly I remember what today is. I groan again as I pull myself into a sitting position. Today is my first day as a detective for Scotland Yard, and I can’t afford to be late. I look over at my clock. 6:45am. “Blast!” I yell in shock. I’m due at work in just over an hour. “No no no,” I mutter. “This is not good!”  


_Stupid jet lag._  


I throw the covers off and scramble to the bathroom. Thank goodness I decided to shower the night before. I never would’ve had time now. I rush into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, and rush back to the bathroom to fix my hair and try to make myself look professional. I brush my thick, shoulder-length, blonde hair and coax the top half into a simple gold barrette, leaving a few pieces out to frame my face. Next I put on some foundation, and some simple neutral eyeshadows and a touch of eyeliner and mascara. I put on a hint of light pink lipstick, and rush back into the bedroom. I glance at my clock again. 7:00. I breathe a small sigh of relief. I just might be alright.  


That is, if I can find my clothes. I search through my suitcases, looking for something suitable to wear. “Blast it all!” I yell again. Why couldn’t I have unpacked last night? Or at least set out an outfit? I finally find a pair of black pants, a white button-up blouse with a black leather collar and gold buttons, and a slim black blazer. I get dressed, and search for a pair of shoes. I decide on a pair of black, heeled, ankle boots, and I put them on too. I double check my hair in the mirror, and grab my watch from the nightstand. I glance at the time. 7:30. I have a half an hour to be at work. I’m never going to make it.  


_Yes you will, you just have to hurry!_ I tell myself.  


I rush to the kitchenette, my heels clacking on the hardwood floor. I grimace at the noise and send a silent apology to the people downstairs. I just hope I haven’t woken them. I pour some coffee into my thermos, and grab my purse, wallet, and phone from the counter. I double check to make sure I have everything. When I’m satisfied I do, I leave my room and head down the hallway to the lift.  


The door dings and I step inside, pushing the button to the bottom floor. I tap my foot impatiently as the lift seems to take it’s time lowering. I finally reach the ground floor and I rush out into the hotel lobby. I make my way across to the breakfast bar, and I quickly grab a banana and a chocolate chip muffin. I rush out again, heading for the front doors. I step out onto the street and breathe in the crisp, May air. I hail a cab, and climb in quickly. “Scotland Yard, please,” I tell the driver. He nods and starts to drive. I check my watch again. 7:45.  


I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I’m going to be on time. “Oh thank goodness,” I mutter quietly. The driver glances back at me in his mirror.  


“You alrigh’, miss?” he asks kindly. I smile at him.  


“Yes I’m fine, thank you. Just relieved I’m actually going to be on time,” I say with a smile. The cabbie chuckles.  


“Aye that’s a fine reason to be thankful, miss. If ye don’t mind me askin’, what are ye on time for?” I grin.  


“It’s my first day at my new job.” He smiles again.  


“And what job might that be, miss?”  


This time, I’m nearly bouncing in my seat. “I’m Scotland Yard’s newest detective!” His eyes widen in surprise.  


“Sure, that’s grand, miss! And you looking so young, too! Congratulations!” he says happily. I smile again.  


“Thank you. I’m 26, if you want to know. Also, am I correct in assuming you’re from Ireland, sir?” I felt a bit of comfort in the familiar accent of my home.  


“Aye, that I am, miss. Been here in London goin’ on 10 years now, but I’ll never love this place as much as me island. I thought I heard a familiar accent in your speech, miss. Oh it does warm my heart to hear it.” He says wistfully. We talk a bit more as we drive, about where we’re from and why we left. Finally, he sighs. “Ah but we’ve arrived! Good luck at your job miss, it was a pleasure meeting you!” He tips his hat at me, smiling, and I smile back as I pay him.  


“Keep the change, it was a pleasure driving with you, sir. Enjoy your day!” I stand grinning for a moment as he drives away. I take another deep breath, glancing at my watch again. 7:55. Five minutes. “Bloody-” I rush into the building, skidding to a halt at the reception desk. “Ehm, excuse me, I’m here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade? I’m the new detective…” I tell the women at the desk. She glances up at me briefly before returning to her file. 

“Name?” she asks lazily. I groan inwardly. 

“Alexandra O'Hara. I’m supposed to be meeting him in-” I check my watch, “3 minutes. I’m supposed to be starting today. He said to meet him at 8:00am.” I tell her impatiently. She types something into the computer, and finally looks up at me. 

“Ah, yes here you are. DI Lestrade’s office is just down that hall.” She points down a hallway off to my left hand side, and I thank her quickly before rushing down the hall. I quickly scan the doors as I pass, until I find it. _Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade._ Fancy.  


I take a breath to calm myself, and knock on the door. I hear shuffling from inside, and then a gruff “Come in!” I open the door and walk in. DI Lestrade stands up from behind his desk as I enter, a smile forming on his face.  


“Ah, Miss O'Hara! Nice to finally meet you. And right on time, too! How wonderful.” I shake his outstretched hand, and he gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Please, do sit down.” I smile gratefully and sink into the offered chair. “Now. I won’t bore you with all the details of what your job entails, we’ve been over all this already. However, before I show you around and show you to your workspace, I wanted to ask you an important question.” He looks at me seriously and I can’t help but get a little nervous.  


“Of course, Detective Inspector. Anything.” I say confidently. He waves his hand at me, scoffing.  


“Please. Enough with the ‘Detective Inspector’. I want you to feel comfortable with me, you will be working with me on occasion. Call me Lestrade. Everyone does. I insist.” I smile. I like him already.  


“Of course, Lestrade.” He nods curtly.  


“Good. Now that’s out of the way, here’s the important question. What do you know of Sherlock Holmes?”


	2. Chapter 2

I sit a little straighter on my seat at those words. I had known that this topic would come up, sooner or later.

   "Why do you ask, sir?" I ask slowly, praying I don't sound too eager. I can't deny that Sherlock Holmes was a bit of a celebrity in the detective world. Lestrade leans forward, leaning on his elbows on the desk. His brows furrowed, he takes a second to gather his words.

   "Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant detective, no doubt. But he can also be a..." he struggles to find the right words, "Well, a pretentious bastard, if I may say so. And as a detective here, there is the chance that you might run into him on cases. Now, if you were to say so, I could keep you off any cases with him and you'd never have to meet the man. But I need to know. So, what do you know of him, and what is your opinion on working with him?" he finishes, seeming a little apprehensive. Almost as if he was holding his breath, waiting for my answer.

   I think about his question. There was no doubt that Sherlock Holmes had come into consideration when I chose this job. I take a deep breath. "I don't know a whole lot more than anyone else who's never met him, sir. I know he's a brilliant detective, with unrivaled skills. That is, unrivaled by all but his older brother. I know he also has a reputation for being, as you put it, a 'pretentious bastard'. I know he doesn't get on well with people, and that his only friend is Dr. John Watson. Or so he says. I believe he has other friends that he simply won't admit. I also know that he is in fact human and all humans feel, and deserve love, kindness, and second chances. And to be quite honest with you," I say, a small smirk growing on my face, "I'm quite intrigued to see what he will deduce about me. I'd quite like to see just how he handles me," I finish, with a now slightly mischievous smile on my face. "And yes, I did research him a bit. I am a detective after all." Lestrade stares at me for a second before I see him visibly relax, and let out the breath he was in fact holding in. "You were hoping I'd answer that way," I state. He looks up at me and nods, leaning back in his chair again.

  "Indeed. If you had said otherwise I would've kept you off his cases, no problem. But I am very glad you didn't. You see, I have a detective that doesn't get along with Sherlock. He can't stand her and won't even let her be around, and it's becoming a problem. Not to mention she's incredibly rude to him and unprofessional. She and I have come to an agreement that if you were willing to work with him, she would be kept off all cases involving him. So, if you don't mind, you'll be replacing her," he says expectantly. I smile and simply nod my head. He claps his hands together and stands. "Alright then, that's settled. If you'll just follow me, I'll show you to your desk." He opens the door and politely waves me through, shutting the door behind us.

   We head down the hall, and he points out people and rooms as we walk. We reach a room filled with desks and computers, posters, maps, and pictures covering the walls and any available whiteboard. Lestrade calls to a slim woman with dark, curly hair. "Donovan! Good news for you!" She looks up as he calls, and slowly makes her way over to us. She eyes me warily before she speaks.

   "This the new girl, then?" she says flatly. Lestrade nods.

   "Donovan, this is Detective Alexandra O'Hara, just arrived from Ireland. O'Hara, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan," Lestrade says jovially. I reach my hand out to Sally.

   "Pleased to meet you," I say with a smile. She wordlessly gives my hand a brief shake, before turning to Lestrade again.

  "Please tell me she's gonna be working with the freak instead of me from now on," she says with a sneer. Lestrade sighs, and I knit my eyebrows, admittedly a little bit miffed.

    _No wonder Sherlock doesn't like her_ , I growl silently.

   "Yes, Sally, she's fine with it. You don't have to work with _Sherlock_ anymore." He seems to place extra emphasis on "Sherlock", indicating he resents her calling him a freak. Interesting. Lestrade must be closer to Sherlock than he lets on. I file that fact away for later. Sally grins and glances at me again.

   "I sure hope there's more to you than on the surface. Cause if not, the freak's gonna eat you alive," she says with a humorless laugh. I simply smile at her, and she huffs and walks way. Lestrade sighs again.

   "Sorry about her. She can be a bit...difficult," he mutters. I laugh a little.

   "It's perfectly alright. I've learned to handle people like her," I assure him. "They just need a little extra love and patience, that's all." Lestrade looks at me with a curious look in his eye. I frown. "What?"  

   "You're one interesting individual, Miss O'Hara. I think I'm going to like you," he says with a grin. "Alright, enough chitchat, we both need to get to work. I'll show you to your desk in a second. But first," he pauses. Lestrade takes a deep breath and bellows, "Oi! If I could have everyone's attention, please!" Immediately the clamor subsides and all eyes are turned to me and the Detective Inspector. Lestrade clears his throat. "Thank you. Now, everyone, please say hello to our newest detective, Alexandra O'Hara." He's answered by a chorus of "hello"s, "g'day"s, and "welcome aboard"s. I smile and wave shyly, all the while wishing I could sink through the floorboards. "Alright everyone, back to work! Not you, Brandon, get over here!" Lestrade calls again, beckoning to a man with light, grey-blond hair. The man gets up from his desk and makes his way over to us. "Brandon, this is Detective O'Hara. O'Hara, this is Sergeant Alan Brandon. He'll be your partner for the time being, maybe longer if you two get on good. If it's alright with you, O'Hara, I'll let him take over?" he asks me, although I can sense it's more of a statement posed as a question for the sake of manners. I smile reassuringly.

   "Of course, Detective Inspector. I appreciate your kindness, thank you." I can tell he's tempted to take me to task for tacking on his title, but at the last second he changes his mind. With a curt nod, he turns and heads back to his office. I turn back to Sergeant Brandon as he begins to talk.

   "Pleasure to meet you, Detective," he says with a smile. He holds out his hand and I shake it firmly.

   "Please, Sergeant, call me Alex. If we're going to be working together, it'll be dreadful being called 'Detective' so formally all the time," I plead. He chuckles, a deep, warm sound that's so infectious I can't help but laugh along with him.

   "Very well then, _Alex_ , then you must call me Alan. I insist." I smile. "Alright well let me show you to your desk. It's right across from mine." He motions me to follow him. As we walk, I take in as many details about him as I can. He appears to be in his mid-fifties, judging by his hair and the lines in his face. He's wearing a ring on a chain around his neck, which I take to mean he's either widowed or unhappily separated, most likely widowed.

    _I think I'm going to like him_ , I tell myself with a smile.

   We reach the desk and he smiles at me, his eyes twinkling happily. "Alright, here's where you'll be spending the rest of your career! The drawers all have locks that only you and Lestrade will have keys to, so feel free to put anything you need in those. If you'll follow me one more time, I'll take you to get a piece. You did get your gun in for registration and clearance, right?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. I let out a laugh.

   "Yes, I did. I dropped it off yesterday when I got in." He nods.

   "Good, it can take a few days. Until your own piece gets registered and cleared, the department will designate one for you. Come on, we'll go get you a gun and your shield, and then you'll really be one of us, eh?" he says with a smirk.

 

-

 

   "So you're from Ireland, then?" Alan asks as we walk. I nod.

   "Yes, sir! Lived there all my life, up until yesterday!" I tell him. He shakes his head.

   "I've never lived anywhere but England. Moved around a lot, but never left. Have you got family back in Ireland?" he asks kindly.

   "Yeah, my mum is there," I say softly. Alan is quiet for a moment.

   "Just your mum? If you don't mind me asking, that is," he adds hurriedly.

   "No, you're fine. Just my mum. My dad passed when I was little, never really knew him growing up. I had a brother..." I trail off as I think of Aidan.

   "I'm so sorry. What happened?" he says softly, placing a hand on my arm. Unexplainably, I feel a sudden warmth and comfort at his voice and touch. It's so sturdy, reassuring. I smile softly as I think of my brother.

   "My brother Aidan was three years older than me. We were incredibly close. When I was a teenager, about 16, Aidan didn't come home one night. The next morning, they...they found his body. He'd been killed. They never found who did it. Ever since then I decided I would become a detective, so that no one else would have to go through life not knowing what happened, never seeing justice done." I take a deep breath, confused. I rarely tell people that story, let alone someone I've just met. But there's something about Alan that's so familiar, so comforting. He doesn't say anything, he just gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, conveying more sympathy than any words. It's then I know I'm right about him being a widower. Only someone who's felt the loss of a loved one could understand so well. I smile at him gratefully, and we walk the last minute or two in silence.

   We reach the armory, as it's been dubbed, and head inside. Alan warmly greets the man behind the counter.

   "Morning, Will, we're here to get Detective O'Hara her shield and a temporary gun lease," he tells the man. Will smiles and looks at me.

   "So you're the rookie! Nice to meet you, I'm William, but you can call me Will. Everyone does," he says with a laugh.

   "Nice to meet you, Will, I'm Alex. Alan here says you might have a gun for me?" He grins, and I notice a few teeth are missing.

   "Indeed I might, miss! Have you got a preference? Or would you just like to take a look at what we have?" he asks with his somewhat-toothless grin.

   "Hmm how about I just take a look?" I say, matching his smile. He nods, and beckons for me to follow him to the back room. On the back wall is a glass case that's filled with handguns and shotguns. They're grouped by size, so I focus on the size range to fit my hands. As I scan over the case, one catches my eye. I point to it. "Is that a Glock G21?" I ask excitedly.

   "Yes indeed! You like that one?" Will asks, heading to the case. "Would you like to look at it?"

   "I'd like to take check out that one, please," I tell him quickly. Alan looks at me with a smile.

   "Is that the gun you own?" he asks. I shake my head.

   "No, but I used to use one. When I was training, every day I'd use that gun. I'm familiar with it, I like it. Why go with something unfamiliar?" I shrug. Will cackles, unlocking the case and grabbing the gun.

   "I couldn't agree more!" He locks up the case again and turns back to me. "What kind of gun do you own now?"

   "I have a Beretta M9A1, silver. It's beautiful. I love the Glock 21 but my Beretta is my baby," I say laughingly.

   "What kind of holster do you like? We might have a few for you in here." Will searches around in a bin next to the case.

   "Something that will go under my blazer, that's all," I shrug again. Will gives a cry of triumph, and holds a holster out to me.

   "Try that," he says. I take the holster from him and take off my blazer. Alan takes it, and I slip the holster on. Surprisingly, I don't have to adjust it much. It feels a lot like my own holster, which is nice. It sits almost like a backpack, with straps around my shoulders and a connected strap across my back. On my left side, extending from the shoulder strap is the holster for the handgun, with another securing strap that clips to my pants like suspenders. Will hands me the gun, and I slide it into the holster. I take my jacket back from Alan, and put it on over the holster. It's a perfect fit, and quite comfortable. I smile at Will, and he grins back. "Alright, that's all settled then! I'll just check it out for you, and we'll get you your shield, and you can be on your way!" We follow him back to the front desk, where he grabs a form and a shield from a drawer. He begins to fill out the form, asking me questions from time to time. After another ten minutes, he finishes the form, and slides it into my file in his filing cabinet. With another toothless grin, he hands me the shield. "Welcome to Scotland Yard, Detective Alex O'Hara!" He winks at me, and I can't help but laugh.

   "Thanks, Will! I appreciate it. See you around!" I say as Alan and I head out the door. I slide the shield onto the front of my pants, and look up to see Alan giving me a wide grin.

   "Welcome to the force, Detective!" We head back to our desks and sit down. I see a file on my desk, and I'm about to open it when I hear Lestrade.

   "Brandon! O'Hara! You're with me!" I glance at Brandon, and he gives me a smile. We get up and head over to Lestrade, who turns and walks down the hallway when we reach him. We walk toward the front as Lestrade fills us in. "We've got a call about a murder in a popular neighborhood. Male, mid-forties. The housekeeper says she found him dead in the backyard this morning." I frown slightly.

   "Sorry, sir, but why are you coming? Surely Alan can supervise me well enough?" I question, slightly confused. Alan gives me a look.

   "There's only one reason he'd be coming," he says slowly. My eyes widen.

   "Does that mean-" Lestrade cuts me off.

   "Yeah. O'Hara, you're about to meet Sherlock Holmes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of the heartbreaking news of Alan Rickman's passing, I decided to base Sergeant Alan Brandon off of Alan Rickman. I got his first name from Alan of course, and his last name from the name of my favorite role of Rickman's, Colonel Brandon from Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. RIP, Alan Rickman, you will always be loved.


End file.
